


time rusts the sharpest swords

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Swordfighting, but they do it while holding swords, fencing in period clothing because Why Not, fighting and flirting, post-timeless children, they talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Doctor tracks the Master to 1686, and finds him lurking somewhere he shouldn’t be. They fight. They flirt. They talk.(AKA: ‘we all miss the fencing scene from The Sea Devils and these two deserve a good fight’)
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 100





	time rusts the sharpest swords

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is dedicated to Ade, Jay, Rain, V, and everyone else on the Thoschei Rights server who never shuts up about swordfighting and period clothing, I love you all

The Doctor tugs at the edges of her coat, sneaking on down the corridor as quietly as she could. That nice servant woman had told her that the dungeons were just down here, and if she was going to find him _anywhere_ , it would be there. 

There’s every chance that her TARDIS has put her down on the wrong day again, and he won’t actually be here at all. But she’s been picking him up all over the universe, in the strangest places, for the past few weeks, and the Doctor is sure that she’ll get lucky eventually. 

Besides, she _very_ much wants to ask what business the Master has in the castle of King James II in 1686, because it was ostensibly _his fault_ that she was stuck wearing this too-constrictive red coat and ridiculously frilly shirt. Her TARDIS had shown her a selection of dresses at first, and she had _absolutely_ drawn a line there, so this was her best alternative. Ugh, the Master would have a field day if he saw her wearing a dress. Not a _chance_. 

She comes to a corner, and pauses, flattening herself against the wall and stilling her breath in order to listen. Nothing, for a beat- then footsteps. _Oh_. Footsteps, and then discontented muttering, and that voice is indistinct but the cadence is so familiar that it makes her hearts ache. The last time she heard that voice, it was begging for her to destroy their home planet. And him along with it. 

The Doctor closes her eyes, steels her nerves, and inches closer. There’s a body lying on the cold stone floor- two bodies, men. One has a rapier gripped in his hand; the other’s lies on the ground a foot or so away from his corpse. And there’s the start of a plan, forming nicely on the edges of her consciousness. 

Naturally, she doesn’t give the plan time to fully take shape before leaping out of her hiding spot, grabbing the sword lying on the floor, and pointing it at the Master with a wild flourish. She’d used to know how to use one of these. Hopefully that knowledge is still in there. 

The Master freezes, and stares at her like she’s the exact last person he expects to see. Then he darts to the floor, wrenches the other rapier out of the other dead man’s hand, and points it right back at her. 

And so they stand, frozen, and they stare at each other. 

He looks healthier than he had done on Gallifrey, the Doctor notes. No more disturbing silver sheen. What had he done with the Cyberium? How was he even alive? Questions, questions, she had _so_ many questions. 

He gets there first. 

“What are you doing here, Doctor?” He spits her name like it’s a curse. 

“Looking for you,” she says, without the slightest bit of shame for once in her life. 

The Master’s face twists, angry, and he shoves his blade towards her. She knocks it aside, _easy_ , like she’s been doing this her whole life, and he scowls and comes at her again. This time the Doctor ducks, scurrying behind him, only for him to wheel around before she can strike- and they’re frozen again, each impossibly tense as they wait for the other to make a move. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” She tilts her head, considers. “No, scratch that. More important- you’re alive. How?”

“You’d miss me if I died,” the Master says, smirking at her. The expression reeks of ‘hiding something’. He’s dead right about her missing him, but it’s not an answer. The Doctor opens her mouth to ask again, and he lunges at her- the edge of his sword catches her shirt. 

A button pings onto the floor, and she feels cold air rush and sting at a new, shallow cut across one of her collarbones. 

He could have stabbed her straight through her right heart just then, if he’d wanted to. She’d have to be more careful. 

“Didn’t know you were one for warning shots,” she quips, wary. 

A singular drop of blood leaks from her new wound, soaking into her white shirt. The Master’s gaze fixates on it for a moment before he answers her. 

“You looked uncomfortable,” he says innocently. “That shirt you usually wear- very _revealing_ , isn’t it? Thought _that_ might make you feel more at home.” He makes a vague motion towards the rip in her shirt with his sword, and the Doctor jumps instinctively. That got a snicker out of him, to her irritation. 

“Prude,” she accuses half-heartedly, scanning his clothes to try and find something to insult. He’s dressed to blend in just like she is, only his coat is a rich purple trimmed with gold. He looks royal. It suits him. Okay, insulting him isn’t working. “What are you doing, Master?”

Something flickers across his face, and before she knows it, he’s charging at her, swinging his sword in ways that _definitely_ aren’t in line with duelling etiquette. The Doctor finds herself desperately on the defensive, blocking his strikes, stumbling backwards. The grating clash of metal rings around the room; it’s an unpleasant noise that might distract her, usually, but now all she can see is _him_. 

“You _coward_ ,” the Master hisses, and he reaches out a hand and shoves her. The Doctor trips, falls- her head smacks against the floor, and she groans, dazed. “You fucking coward. You left a _human_ to kill me. You couldn’t even do it yourself.” 

He’s on top of her now, one hand gripping her shoulder, his sword pressed against her throat. The Doctor doesn’t know why, but she grins at him. It’s the same utterly manic smile she’d presented him with when he’d shoved her up against the edge of the Eiffel Tower, and she’d felt the wind whipping at her hair- it’s a smile that says _fine, you could end this regeneration right here, so do it_. 

The Master yells with frustration, and she takes the chance to knee him in the stomach and shove him off. She’s not going to respond to his insults. She knows she’s a coward; she’s made her peace with that. She just wants to know why he’s here, so she can fix it, because of course he’s done something stupid and evil. That’s what he _does_. 

The Doctor stands, and before the Master can get back to his feet, her sword is pointed at his left heart. He freezes on his knees. “Tell me what you’re doing here,” she commands. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, looking absolutely fascinated. A thousand emotions cross his face in a second- the Doctor recognises anger, irritation, adoration, _lust_ \- okay, no, that’s enough, _stop analysing_. She scowls at him. 

“What?”

“Oh,” he says again, sounding so distracted that the Doctor doesn’t bother to stop him when he gets to his feet, steps closer. “My dear Doctor, you sound like _me_.” 

She steps back, disgusted. “No I _don’t_ \- I-“

Before her objections can go any further, he’s on her again, another barrage of sword slashes that she can barely move fast enough to block. He’s so aggressive, so _angry_ \- nothing at all like that former self of his, with the suit and the white-streaked beard and charm oozing out of every pore. Stars, it really had been _forever_ since the last time they’d fought this way. 

“You’ve ruined me, Doctor,” he spits. “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m not doing _anything_. I’ve visited fifteen planets since I escaped Gallifrey. Fifteen. Thought it might be fun, cause a little chaos, hypnotise a few kings, start a war or three. Nope! Oh, no. No- fun- at- _all_.” He punctuates every word with a jab, until the Doctor has to duck away to one side to avoid being shoved against the wall. “All I can think about is you, same as fucking _always_.” 

“What, like that’s my fault?” She catches him off guard- their blades clash, and she twists her wrist, pushing back, putting _him_ on the defensive for once. “You’ve always been obsessed. Not my problem.” 

Some quiet part of her brain reminds her of the weeks she‘d spent after leaving him to the Kasaavin. She’d been trawling through the ruins of Gallifrey at every available opportunity, making her TARDIS scan for him at least once an hour, if not more. She’s no better. The Master doesn’t have to know that. 

“You made me,” he growls, his sword smashing against hers so hard that the impact vibrates all the way up her arm. The Doctor isn’t even sure that he’s trying to hit her with the blade- he just needs to hit _something_. “You made me who I am, then you made me love you, then you threw me in a vault and made me _guilty_ -“ 

The Master cuts himself off, and he’s shaking, tears in his eyes. The Doctor should feel sympathy, but instead she’s struck by a sudden burst of anger. 

“You were changing, in that vault! You were actually thinking, for once in your _stupid_ lives, and you were becoming a better person. I was starting to trust you! I really was, Master!” 

She lifts her sword, swings it at him, voice full of hurt. “And then you _betrayed_ me.”

At the same moment, the Master raises his own blade to block her, and he speaks at the exact time she does- “You _left_ me!” 

The Doctor freezes. Their swords stay pressed against each other, their bodies inches apart, perfectly balanced. She- what? She’d left him? That doesn’t sound right. 

The Master sees the confusion on her face, and he falters- but then the anger takes over again, and he pushes forwards, shoving her against the wall. He’s half-forgotten his sword now, clearly; it’s hanging uselessly by his side. His chest is pressed against hers, and despite everything, despite the _danger_ she’s ostensibly in, heat rises in her cheeks and her thoughts scatter. 

“You left me, Doctor,” he hisses, and she snaps back to herself in an instant. “I died for you. If I betrayed you, then where the _fuck_ do you think I went? Did you just forget about me, think I’d skipped off to see the universe? I stabbed myself in the back for you, Theta, and then I died. I _died_ for you, and I thought I was never fucking going to wake up again. And I did it for you, and I was _happy_ about that. Won’t be making that mistake again.” 

The Doctor just stares at him, wide-eyed. This...this can’t be true. He has to be lying, this is a trick, this is some stupid plan to fuck with her emotions. She can’t trust him again, can’t trust _anyone_ again, not after O-

She grits her teeth, and forces her struggling feelings back under control. Grabbing the Master’s coat, she spins them, slamming him against the wall. Yes, this position is _much_ more to her liking. She presses her sword against his throat, hard enough that it’ll cut him if he so much as twitches. “Stay still,” she orders, and she closes her eyes and ducks into his mind. He has walls up, of course he does, but she knows him better than anyone, and she’s slipped past them before he has a chance to guard against her. 

This is an invasion of privacy of the highest degree, and she’ll hate herself for it later. But the Doctor has to know if he’s lying to her. She thinks she’ll go mad if she doesn’t. Maybe she’s already mad, to even entertain the possibility that he might be telling the truth. 

She goes straight for his memories. She expects him to try and hide them; he doesn’t. Instead, the Doctor finds images being shoved at her, one by one. Missy, walking off into the forest with her other, younger self. A conversation, a hug- blood, and a knife. A confrontation, and then _pain_ , searing pain, every nerve melting and dying and then- and then—

She pulls back, choking on her own breaths. The Master stays where he is. The sword in his hand clatters to the floor. He looks tired; broken. “You left me,” he says again, dark eyes gazing at her with a sadness that is so, so soft. 

The Doctor shakes her head. She drops her own sword in her haste to cross back over to him, press her fingers against his temples and show him her memories. Dying on a battlefield- waking up in her own TARDIS, alone, resentful, trying to die for _real_ , and then...changing her mind, letting this new body burn itself into existence. 

Now it’s the Master’s turn to stare. He blinks at her, shock written into every line of his face. 

“I would never have abandoned you,” the Doctor admits, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t think that you’d- that you’d _ever_ -“ She sighs. “I just didn’t _think_ , full stop.” 

“I was too busy being dead to think,” the Master says, with a bark of laughter that sounds entirely too manic. He lets out another one, and another, until his voice cracks and suddenly the laughter is desperate, shaking sobs. 

_Fuck_ , the Doctor says quietly to herself, and she throws her arms around him before she can think too hard about that particular action. She’s not very touchy-feely this time around, but the Master is her oldest friend; if she can bear to give anyone a hug, it’s him. 

Her mind is racing, thoughts mingling with adrenaline in a way that makes it ridiculously difficult to focus on anything. They’d both misunderstood each other horribly. So many bitter, _bitter_ arguments between them in these bodies, and all of them for so much less reason than previously thought. Had she known this, any of this, she would never have been angry at him. Her hearts ache with all the things she’s said that she never should have said. 

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor murmurs, and she squirms internally at how odd it feels to apologise to the _Master_ of all people. He’s a mess. At least part of that is her fault. Perhaps...oh, her companions aren’t around right now. Perhaps it really is time to slow down for a while. 

She braces herself. 

“Koschei...do you want to come with me?”

He lifts his head from her shoulder. The tears have stopped, but the Master looks shattered, in every sense of the word. Instead of an answer, he leans in and kisses her. 

His lips taste like salt and ash, warmth and home, and the Doctor is suddenly dizzy with the memory of how _long_ it’s been since she’s felt them against her own. They’re much softer than they used to be. Everything about him, physically, is soft- he’s the perfect counterpoint to Missy’s hard lines in all but personality. That is just as sharp and jagged as ever. More so, perhaps. 

He breaks away after a minute, and he nods. Dazed by the kiss, it takes her a moment to remember what he was agreeing to. 

The Doctor feels responsibility settle about her shoulders like a heavy cloak- she’ll have to set the TARDIS controls to isomorphic, she’ll have to make him a bedroom, give her ship a stern talking-to about being gentle with him, figure out what’s going on in his head, figure out where he’s keeping whatever he must be using to travel around. The list goes on and on, and she’ll have to consider it all at some point soon. Not now. 

“Remember the last time we fenced with each other?” She smiles, and sees the faintest twitch of the Master’s lips in return. “We were so _young_.” 

“Practically still children,” he murmurs. “Doctor...Theta. I’m...” He hesitates. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s clear that the words don’t come easily, and so the Doctor beams at him when he gets them out. Then she kisses him again, because if _that’s_ allowed now, how is she ever supposed to stop herself? It’s an entirely different sort of clash to swordfighting, but it gets her hearts beating just as fast. 

Eventually, she pulls away, and the Master looks just a little bit more like himself. The Doctor slips her hand into his, and squeezes it. 

“Come on.” She smiles at him. “Back to my ship. We’ve got work to do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie, this fic is very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoyed anyway!! comments and kudos very much appreciated as always <3


End file.
